


Hear The Mission Bell

by carolroi (CarolROI)



Series: Hotel California [1]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolROI/pseuds/carolroi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While researching his masters thesis, Blair discovers an intriguing woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear The Mission Bell

August 1993, Seattle, WA

"And so," I conclude, wrapping up my awkward introductory speech to the half dozen or so people gathered round me at the back of the bar, "that's what my research paper on deviant subcultures is about. What I'd like to do is interview you about your unorthodox sexual culture." My statement is met with eyerolls and the scrape of chairs being pushed back. Quickly I produce my business cards, handing them out as the group disperses, two or three of them tearing my cards up and tossing the pieces on the floor.

"That went well…not," I mutter under my breath as I stuff my notes into my backpack. This will make two -- count 'em two -- master's thesis topics I've bombed out on. First the sentinel thing, and now sexual subcultures. I don't know what the hell my advisor was thinking when she suggested it. I quickly discovered you have to already be a player to have any kind of credibility with the leather crowd, and skinny little white-bread anthropologist wanna-be's don't make the cut. 

Sighing, I shoulder my bag and run a hand over my eyes. It's back to the drawing board, I guess. At this rate, I won't get my degree until the turn of the century.

Turning to leave, I find a woman blocking my way. She's about my height and perhaps a few years older. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a backpack slung over her shoulder, she appears to be a fellow student. "Pretty good pitch," she tells me, "too bad you pissed them all off." She holds out her hand. "I'm Julia. I'm a dominatrix."

For a moment I hesitate, thinking she's making fun of me after my crash and burn, but her gaze never wavers and her expression, while friendly, is serious. Clasping her outstretched hand, I manage, "I'm Blair, and as you heard, I'm pretty much clueless."

She laughs, her head going back, her dark ponytail tossing. "You're honest. I like that." Giving me a smile that turns my knees to jelly, she says, "Look, why don't we go somewhere a little more cheerful and talk?"

Blinking at her, I stutter, "You -- you mean that?"

"Of course. Come on, let's go get some coffee." And taking me by the arm, Julia drags me out of the bar.

Ten minutes later, I'm sharing a booth with Julia, an untouched latte in front of me, too busy studying her to drink it. I'm having a very difficult time picturing her wielding whips and chains. She has a fresh-faced, girl next door appearance, and hazel eyes that shift color every time the lighting changes. As she turns those amazing eyes on me, I feel that familiar lurch in my stomach. 

Beautiful women are my weakness. Me and every other man in the world, I know, but I seem to fall in love on a regular basis. It never lasts longer than a few days before she dumps me, or someone new catches my eye, but while I'm in it, I give it a hundred percent. Lately though, I've been too stressed out over my thesis, or lack thereof, to even notice the thousands of beautiful women roaming the campuses of U of WA. But now…

Crossing her legs Indian-style on the booth's seat, Julia takes a sip of her cappuccino and raises one eyebrow at me. I realize she's caught me staring at her, and my face grows hot.

Dropping my gaze to my cup, I apologize. "Sorry, I know I'm gawking, but--"

"--I don't look like a sadistic mother-fucker to you?" She flashes me a cheeky grin. "Because that's what I am, you know. Enough about me for the moment. Let's talk about you. Tell me a little about yourself and why you decided to write a paper on the leather subculture, especially since you don't seem to have any practical experience."

Ouch. Leaning back in my seat, I run a hand through my tangled curls, my mouth suddenly dry despite the drink I just took. Instinctively, I know if I can pass her inspection she can get me in the door with the bondage crowd. But I also sense the kind of bullshit I'm so good at won't work on her. What do I say, where do I start? I think about Dr. Haines and her rejection of my half-completed sentinel paper. What comes out of my mouth is, "My name is Blair Sandburg, and I've wanted to be an anthropologist since I was nine years old and my mother took me to see the temple at Chichen Itza." 

One of Julia's eyebrows raises in polite interest, and taking a deep breath, I plunge on. "All those huge buildings and carvings made by people who had just vanished. I became obsessed with them, even at that age. I had to know everything about them. I drove my mother and the tour guides nuts with my questions, until we came across a man excavating near some of the ruins. I think he took pity on my poor mother, who must have been at her wit's end with me by that time. He answered as many of my questions as he could, and encouraged me to look for the rest of the answers on my own. His name was Eli Stoddard, and he became my mentor." 

I pause, taking a drink of my rapidly cooling latte, wondering what to say now that I've gone in the complete opposite direction than I'd intended. I was supposed to be asking her the questions, not spilling my life story to her. 

"So why are you doing a paper on sexual subcultures if you started out with an interest in ancient civilizations?" she asks.

"Because as fascinating as I found the ancients to be, it's the ways the people of today are the same as their ancestors that really interests me. Take the concept of sentinels, for instance," I say, warming to my favorite subject.

"Sentinels?"

I nod eagerly, then dig through my bag, pulling out my well-worn Burton book. "It's all in here," I tell her, sliding the slim volume across the table to her. Julia picks it up, carefully turning the pages. "Sentinels were members of primitive tribes whose sensory awareness was heightened. They could see and hear better, sniff out game and changes in the weather. Taste and touch were enhanced as well."

"Hmmm…" she glances up from her perusal of the book, interest lighting up her face. "I can see how having a sentinel around would be useful."

"Yeah! So I started looking for a modern-day sentinel. I mean, we all know about the people with heightened smell and taste, right? The ones that coffee and perfume companies hire. And those test pilots like Chuck Yeager, who have vision better than the rest of us. The idea of a person with all five senses heightened doesn't seem so far-fetched when you consider them."

"No, it doesn't," Julia agrees.

"That was how I pitched it to Dr. Haines, my thesis advisor."

Never raising her head from the Burton book, Julia says wryly, "And you're doing your thesis on B and D -- why?"

Slumping in my seat, I begin to tear my napkin into tiny pieces. "Because after two years of searching, I couldn't find a sentinel, and Dr. Haines felt my paper wouldn't work without one. I guess I can see her point. Without empirical evidence, all I'm doing is theorizing. So she suggested societal subcultures. I was thinking gangs, sports teams, religions, but she gave me all this info on sexual fetishes, S and M, the leather scene." A thought hits me and I bolt upright in my seat. "Do you think she was trying to tell me something?"

Julia considers that for a moment, eyeing me with what I can only call a predatory gaze. "It's possible. You are a very tasty looking morsel." She winks. "Or maybe it's because she knows no one's ever done a serious anthropological study of our culture. Psych profiles, sure, but studying us as a group, as a society? Not that I'm aware of. And believe me, I've looked at pretty much all the literature out there. You know what they say about psych majors, we're only in it to find out what's wrong with us." Julia graces me with a wry grin. 

"You're a psych major?"

"Working on my doctorate, actually. My full name's Julia Henson, by the way."

Even I realize that by giving me her name, I've at least partially gained her trust. 

"So look, Blair, I heard your little speech earlier, and the idea does intrigue me. I'm willing to help you out, point you toward what's been done before, introduce you to people, but I have to know if I can trust you. After all, we're not talking about you studying some tribe off in New Guinea, you're going to be writing about people who have everything to hide. Some of us, like myself, don't have anyone they need to keep the 'deviant' side of their life hidden from, but others have family, employers who would not understand that this lifestyle is not a disease, and it's no reflection on them, you understand? We're even off the beaten path in gay and lesbian society. So I want your assurance that you'll come into this with an open mind and as few preconceived notions as possible. I also want your promise that you'll protect my friends, because while this is just a paper to you, how you treat them affects my reputation. B and D is all about trust, Blair, and if, because of you, my fellow players no longer trust me--" She pauses, her eyes narrowing. "Well, let's just say you won't like what I'll do to you."

Swallowing nervously, I nod. "I understand."

"One more thing, if I think your interviews and research will harm my friends in any way, if I think you can't handle the things you're going to observe, then I want you to find another topic, okay/"

I was willing to agree to almost anything to gain her aid, but now I'm not so sure. "Are you saying you want final approval on my paper? I can't give you that!"

Julia shakes her head. "I'm saying I want you to listen to me if I think you're doing more harm than good, to yourself or my friends."

Chewing the inside of my lip, I think it over. On one hand, I can see where she's coming from, on the other, I can't have her dictating what conclusions I draw from my observations. "Look, Julia, I'll follow procedure to the letter, identify the study participants by a number only, and do everything in my power to protect their identities. And I like to think of myself as being professional enough not to let any personal bias color my results."

She nods slowly, passing the Burton book back to me. "Fair enough." She glances at her watch. "I've got a class tonight; why don't you drop by my office tomorrow, and I'll give you some books to get you started. It's the Harper building, room 105." 

"Okay." Giving her a grin, I reach over the table to shake her hand, then watch as she gathers up her things and leaves the coffee shop. Once she's gone, I give in to the shiver of excitement I've been holding back. I may not know much about how the dominance thing works, but when Julia was laying down the rules--the tone of her voice, the way her gaze seemed to bore right through me--I thought she was totally hot. Like I said, I have a weakness. 

Finishing off my cold latte, I grab up my bookbag and head for the library. Maybe I can bone up on BDSM before tomorrow, so I won't sound like such a doofus when I open my mouth.

* * *

 

When I have a free period the following day, I head over to Julia's office. My little research jaunt the night before was somewhat fruitless. Either I had no clue what heading to look under, or the university library has very little on the subjects of bondage and sadomasochism. I ended up with a book on gay leather sex that I rapidly re-shelved after flipping through the pages and stumbling on a very graphic description of something called "fisting". My insides clench up when I think about it, though I'm not sure if it's in fear or a sick fascination. The other book I found was something called "The Story of O." It's supposed to be fiction…I think. I stayed up all night reading it, and hope it'll at least give me some kind of a reference point for starting a conversation. 

Reaching room 105, I find the door open, and Julia seated behind her desk, writing in a notebook. She looks up at my knock. "Blair, hi. Good timing. I'm free for a couple hours. Come on in, shut the door, and take a seat." 

I do so, noticing the office appears a lot like mine, except it's neater, and it looks like she doesn't have to share with two other teaching assistants. She also has a couch. I sit down on it, resting my book bag on the floor. Julia hunts through one of her filing cabinets for something, then joins me on the couch. 

Giving me a smile, she says, "So, where should we start? I thought perhaps I should give you a little of my background, be your first interviewee, so to speak." 

Pulling out a notebook and pen, I nod. I haven't really come up with a list of questions yet, so I'll have to wing it. "Okay. Basics first. Name?"

"Julia Henson."

"Age?"

"Twenty-six."

"When did you first know you wanted to be a dominatrix?" As often as I'd practiced that sentence in my head, it still sounds odd to say it, and I can feel my cheeks coloring.

Julia laughs lightly at my embarrassed expression. "Cutting right to the heart of the matter, I see." She taps her chin thoughtfully. "I didn't start out in this lifestyle as a domme. I was a sub first, oh, about seven years ago. Though even as a child I was fascinated by people being tied up on TV and in movies. And I thought I would like to have it done to me, so when a lover suggested it, I agreed. Maybe he just wasn't a very good dom, but I was bored out of my skull. He was more interested in what he was getting out of it than making sure I was satisfied. I figured I could do a better job than he did, so I found myself a teacher, and never looked back."

"A teacher?" 

"Sure, a more experienced dom to teach me the ropes. I may not have agreed completely with his philosophy, but there was nothing wrong with his technique. I suppose I was his apprentice." She gives me a smile. "I suspect you're totally confused, right?"

Sighing, I nod. "Yeah. I went to do some research last night but couldn't find much. Just 'The Story of O'." Again I feel my face grow hot.

"Utter rubbish, along with those Anne Rice things. They have nothing what so ever to do with B and D in real life. Only thing they're good for is one-handed reading. " 

I want to sink into the couch. Am I that transparent? 

Again, she smiles at me. "Erotica is erotica, Blair, even if it isn't something you'd particularly like done to you, you can still enjoy reading about it. Though the whole setup of "O" would today get her lover and his cronies tossed into jail. As a fantasy though, it's pretty harmless. And that's basically what I'm in the business of doing, making fantasies come true, within reason." 

Recovering, I scribble the bit about fantasies down. "Can you explain that more fully?"

"Sure." Julia leans toward me, resting her arm on the back of the couch. "Basically, someone looking for a domme comes to me and we have an in-depth discussion about what they're looking for in a dom/sub relationship, down to the very smallest detail. It's important that I know everything about them, their health, their state of mind, their sexual likes and dislikes. Here--" getting to her feet, Julia retrieves the paper she'd gotten out before and hands it to me. "This is a worksheet I have all my subs fill out. Want to try it, just to demonstrate what I'm talking about?"

I take a moment to look the list over and quickly realize I'm out of my depth, despite my "research". Chastity belts? Four types of handcuffs, six types of gags? Mummification? What in the world is that? The flagellation list seems pretty straightforward…Humiliation play? Enemas and bathroom training? Dildos and plugs and a list of sex acts including that fisting thing-- I'm supposed to tell Julia whether or not I think I'd like this stuff? I don't even know what most of it is!

Certain that every inch of my body is now beet red, I hand the paper back to her. "I don't think I'm ready for this--for any of it." Leaning forward to hide my embarrassment, I rake my fingers through my hair in frustration. Damn it, I'm running out of thesis topics.

"Blair, it's okay to feel embarrassed. Most people are the first time they come to see me, especially if it's the first time they've admitted to themselves they have an interest in B and D. But it's just like anything else, the more you talk about it, become accustomed to it, the easier it becomes. And in order for you to talk to people in the lifestyle, you're going to have to get comfortable with open, detailed sexual discussion. I have another idea. Are you willing to try a different approach to this?" 

Peering up at her through my hands, I say, "I think I'm willing to try just about anything, save a hands-on demonstration."

"Okay then." Getting up from the sofa, she brings her office chair around the front of her desk. Parking it next to the couch, she takes a seat in it. "Let's have you lie down on the couch. That way you don't have to look at me when you talk." 

Letting out the breath I was holding, I do as she suggests, the familiar positions of therapist and patient relaxing me somewhat. I suppose it's appropriate -- she's a psychologist after all. 

"Comfortable?" she asks. 

"Probably as comfortable as I'm going to get," I reply, folding my arms across my chest. "Okay, I'm ready." 

She laughs softly. "This isn't an interrogation. I'm just going to ask you some questions, and you answer to the best of your ability. If you're uncomfortable with something, just say so. Like you did, I'm going to start with the basics. How old are you?"

Easy enough. "I just turned twenty-two." 

"So you started college younger than most kids?" 

I nod. "I was home-schooled most of my life because my mother and I moved around so much. When we finally settled down in Cascade, I tested out of most of high school, then started at Rainier University at sixteen. Got my bachelors degree in a little over four years, then took a year off to go on a series of expeditions." 

There's a moment of silence before Julia asks her next question, as if she's trying to figure out how to phrase it. "Was that a difficult adjustment for you, going off to college that young?"

I consider my answer as carefully as she did the question. "Yes and no. Like I said, I'd lived all over the world before I wound up in Washington. I'd spent a couple years on Indian reservations, a winter in the outback, a summer in the veldts of Africa. I'd been places the kids I shared a dorm with had only read about in books; I had tons of life experience. What I was lacking was social life experience." I chuckle. "It was sort of painful then, having the normal feelings of any kid that age, yet the girls in my life were all several years older. I spent two years being terminally horny. Is that what you wanted to know?" Twisting around on the couch so I can see her face, I give her a grin.

Smiling back at me, Julia says, "Well, yes, actually. You've had therapy before, haven't you?"

"Started while I was still in diapers. My mother believes all forms of self-enlightenment are valuable." 

"She does, does she? Sounds like an interesting woman." 

You have no idea…

"So did things eventually get better for you, dating-wise?" Julia asks.

"Yeah, my junior year when I was the same age as the incoming freshmen. I got points for sharing my two years of college experience with the newbies. And I got dates." I lie back down, a broad smile on my face at the memories. 

"What was your first sexual experience like?"

The question startles me a little. I'd expected it, but not so soon. "It was… like everyone else's, I suppose. Awkward fumbling on a dorm room bed, hasty foreplay, hastier coitus, embarrassment on both our parts afterwards. I will admit the following experiences have been much better." 

"How many lovers have you had?"

It takes me a moment, but I can remember all their faces. "Five." 

"That includes any one-nighters, right?" 

Now I'm a little irritated. "No. I've never had any 'one-nighters'. My mother raised me to respect women. The only women I've slept with have been ones I've dated. Sure, maybe a couple of the relationships didn't last more than a few weeks, but most of them were long term." 

"Sorry, Blair, I didn't mean to offend you with that question." Her tone of voice is gentle, and it's easy for me to forgive her assumption. "Let's change the subject a little, shall we? You said you traveled as a child? Did you make friends easily?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I don't ever remember feeling particularly lonely. I was sad when I had to leave friends behind, but I usually made new ones pretty soon." 

"What kind of games did you like to play as a child? Cowboys and Indians?"

"No, not really, despite living on reservations. I played a lot of sports, read books."

"Did you ever play doctor, or did you prefer being the patient?" she asks, her voice perfectly neutral.

"I think every little kid has played doctor, but I rather liked being the patient. Though I actually have a vivid memory of the little blonde neighbor girl, a jar of Vicks Vapo-Rub, and my privates. Let's just say that 'burning sensation' is not a strong enough term to describe what happened." 

A strangled noise comes from Julia's direction. "I'm s-s-sorry, Blair," she stammers and bursts into laughter. It takes a moment, but I join her. After all, it is pretty funny. "Oh, god," she finally gasps, "I'll have to remember that. I have some subs who would probably find that a thrilling experience." 

"Glad I could be of service," I quip. Rolling on my side, I take a look at her. She's shaking her head, grinning while wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"Okay…let's get a little more serious. You read "Story of O". What part of the story turned you on the most?"

Blushing again, I flop back down on the couch so I can't see her face, and she can't see that the mention of that book has made my dick twitch. "Well…" I finally answer, visions from the book playing in my head, "the whipping part was not my thing, but I liked the part about the women having to be always ready to service their masters." Silence from Julia. "Um, not that I'd want to use a woman that way, but just sometimes I think that would be easier, you know?" 

"Easier? In what way?" There's nothing judgmental in her tone.

"In that I wouldn't have to go through the courting ritual. You know, the dinner, movie, cross your fingers, hope you get lucky thing. Just once I'd like to have a woman tell me 'Forget about going out, we aren't leaving the bedroom'."

"I want you. Now get naked," Julia purrs, her suddenly husky voice going straight to my cock. "Is that what you mean?"

I exhale slowly, trying to control the shudder that goes through me. "Yeah, that's exactly what I mean. It's frustrating having to be the one to always start something, kinda makes me feel like she's not really attracted to me, either that, or it's a subtle way of telling me I'm a lousy lover." 

Julia makes a little hmming noise, and I hear the scratch of a pen on paper. Sounds like she's now taking notes on me. "So you'd like your lovers to be more aggressive in the bedroom?"

"Yeah. It--this is so going to sound like a girly thing to say, but it makes me feel wanted, the person I care about desiring me enough ask me to make love. Or, hell, I wouldn't mind being pounced on once in a while."

"So you like spontaneity in your relationships. How do you feel about oral sex?" I can hear the smile in her voice. She knows what my answer will be. What man's going to say he hates having his dick sucked?

"It's great, fantastic, wish it would happen more often. And I like giving as well as getting."

"I know why you like getting it, but tell me why you like performing it." With that sentence I realize we're talking about sex, and I'm not blushing anymore. The blood seems to be rushing to another part of my anatomy. I shift position on the couch, bending one knee so that my condition isn't so obvious.

No more visible signs of embarrassment, but now I'm tripping over my tongue as I struggle to come up with an answer. "I--um--it's--I like the noise she makes when I'm doing it. I mean, I know I'm not the best lover in the world, and sometimes I don't have the best control, or enough stamina to please her the--normal way, and so I know when I'm doing that, when I'm licking her, tasting her, I know she's enjoying it. I know she had an orgasm," I finish, taking a deep breath. I can't believe I just said that. I can't believe I'm this hard just from talking.

"So what's the kinkiest thing you've ever done sexually?" she asks, as if she hasn't noticed that I'm drawing up my legs, trying to hide the signs of my arousal. 

I have to really focus to come up with something besides 'Other than right now?' "Um, I've done it in the backseat of a car…does that count?"

"Sure, if you think of it as kinky. How did it make you feel?" At last, the standard therapist's question.

"Feel? Excited, nervous, that anxious what-if-we-get-caught kind of feeling. Now that I think about it, it kind of made it more intense, a mix of adrenaline and hormones heightening all the sensations," I theorize.

"Spoken like a true scientist," she responds. "But you've hit pretty closely to what B and D is all about--heightening the sexual experience by the use of a variety of physical and mental techniques, some of which involve pain, most of which don't." 

The sound of the class bell ringing in the hallway stops me before I can respond. "I'm sorry, Blair. I have to go teach a lab now." 

I sit up slowly as Julia gets to her feet, picking up a couple books from her desk. She hands them to me, and I place them on my lap, discreetly covering up my little problem. "Here are the books I talked about. One of them is more focused on the mental aspects of the leather lifestyle, the other one's kind of a 'how-to' book. Both of them spend time defining our jargon. I think you'll find them useful in your research." 

Grabbing the briefcase sitting on the floor by her desk, she heads toward the hallway, stopping with her hand on the door. "Give me a call after you've read them, and we can discuss where to go from there. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need to, just pull the door shut when you leave. It locks automatically." 

"Okay," I reply, but Julia's already out the door, closing it behind her. Letting out a long breath, I set the books aside for a moment, and readjust myself. Shit, I'm hard. There's no way I can walk through the halls like this. Even if I held something in front of me, my winces would give me away. 

So now what? She said I could stay as long as I want. I'll just sit here until it goes away. Closing my eyes, I lean back into the couch, thinking of snow, ice, anything cold. That lasts for about five seconds. Those books are calling my name. Cracking one eye open, I look down at the first one. The cover shows a black and white photo of a leather boot with a thin stiletto heel and laces going all the way up it. "Different Loving" is the title. Sliding it to the side, I use both eyes to read the title on the second one. "Screw The Roses, Send Me The Thorns." Sounds like the author might take a humorous approach to the subject. The photo though…it makes me very aware my erection hasn't diminished in the least. A blindfolded woman is shown from the waist up, her arms crossed over her nude torso, ropes running from her wrists off the edge of the photo. 

A chill runs down my spine, and I squirm on the cushions, the photo reminding me of the descriptions in "O"….And this is not helping your predicament, Blair. 

Again, I think of ice-cold mountain streams, that time I joined the Polar Bear club and jumped into a frozen lake on New Year's Day…it's not helping. Julia's words echo in my mind, "…stay as long as you need to…" She was practically telling me to do it, wasn't she?

But in someone else's office? That's kind of…kinky…which I think is the idea. She pointed out the door self-locks, so no one's going to walk in on me. Is it a challenge from her to me? Is she daring me to jack off in her office, on her sofa? 

Who in the hell cares? The teeth of my jeans zipper are digging into tender flesh, and it hurts. A little more roughly than I intended, I unfasten my fly and yank the zipper down, unable to suppress a moan of both relief and need. Sliding my hand under the waistband of my shorts, I push them down over my trapped cock, letting it spring free. It nearly slaps against my stomach, the swollen tip glistening with fluid.

I take a few calming breaths before I allow myself to touch it, one fingertip spreading the pre-come across the head and down the shaft. "Oh...god..." I whisper. It's like it was in the car that one time, my stomach tied in knots, my cock harder than it's ever been. 

Closing my eyes, I wrap my fingers around it, stroking gently. Julia's voice whispers in my ear, "I want you. Get naked…" She's in front of me, an intense look in her eyes, and I don't hesitate to obey. She pushes me back down on the couch, straddling my thighs. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling my head back, baring my neck. She kisses me there, her lips nibbling, teeth sinking into my skin, her tongue blazing a wet trail from the hollow of my throat to the tip of my chin. 

She marks me at the join of my neck and shoulder, sucking and biting until I feel the bruise rising and gasp, my cock throbbing in time with my wild heartbeat. "You like this, baby, don't you?" she breathes, her fingertips finding my nipples, rubbing, teasing them until they ache. "You want someone like me, don't you? Someone who wants you enough to take you…"

I reach for her, but she pushes my hands away. "No, baby, I'm in control here. Just watching your reaction turns me on." Her hand slips between us, her fingers squeezing the sensitive crown of my cock. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from yelling. "So hard, baby, so strong. Want you inside me…." 

She's pulling up the hem of her skirt, and for a moment I wonder why she's not wearing any panties, then Julia's easing down on me, and I'm inside her…so hot…so tight…her mouth is on my neck again, her fingers pinching my nipples….

And I'm coming, shuddering, my strokes rough and awkward, hot fluid spilling through my fingers as lightning shoots through my veins. Oh god…oh god…it's never been like this before….

It's several minutes before I'm coherent enough to open my eyes. I'm in Julia's office, sitting on her couch, my jeans undone, my hand still loosely clenched around my semi-erect cock. And I'm completely alone. I ponder that for a few moments, then haul myself to my feet and stagger over to Julia's desk, where I swipe some of her tissues and make an attempt to clean myself up. 

After several tries, I manage to tuck my dick back in my pants and fumble with fastening them. The bell rings outside, making me realize just how long I've been here. Stuffing the books Julia gave me into my backpack, I toss the wadded up tissues in her trash and make a hasty exit. For some reason I think that if Julia doesn't find me at the scene of the crime, she won't know what I did. 

But as I exit the building, I get the feeling I'm being watched. Turning back, I see her standing at a second floor window. Julia gives me a slow smile, and I know I'm just deluding myself. She knows exactly what happened in her office after she left; our whole conversation led inexorably to it. 

And god help me, I think I want more.


End file.
